


With Flowers Come The Rain

by MirrorMystic



Series: Secret Keepers [4]
Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Bittersweet, F/F, F/M, Multi, Pre-Poly, Pre-Relationship, side Alm/Faye and Alm/Celica but the focus is this side of the triangle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 08:07:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29963415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirrorMystic/pseuds/MirrorMystic
Summary: Celica’s back. Alm and Faye can hardly believe it. Despite their reunion, however, things are a little more complicated than they’d hoped. The lonely gray winter of Celica’s absence has made way for an early spring, but it isn’t all sunshine. At least, not at first…
Relationships: Alm/Anthiese | Celica/Efi | Faye, Anthiese | Celica/Efi | Faye
Series: Secret Keepers [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1639600
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	With Flowers Come The Rain

**Author's Note:**

> _What's going to be left of the world if you're not in it?_  
>  \- Bastille "Good Grief"
> 
> \---
> 
> It's been a long time since I've written these two, but it feels good to be back. Like coming home. I hope you all enjoy the read. ^^
> 
> Follow me on Twitter at @mystic_writes !

~*~  
  
Faye thinks she must be dreaming.  
  
The whole village of Ram had gathered around the fire pit in town square for an impromptu bonfire to honor their newest guests-- a procession of clerics from Novis Island and their grizzled bodyguard. And who would be leading such a pilgrimage than Celica-- her Celica. Her best friend. The one she’d thought she’d lost forever.  
  
“Faye,” Alm whispers, sidling up beside her. “How are you feeling?”  
  
“Pinch me,” Faye murmurs, dazed.  
  
Alm shrugs. “...Okay.”  
  
Faye yelps and leaps to her feet as Alm does as he’s told. She socks him in the arm hard enough to knock him off the log they’re sitting on and bowl him over into the grass.  
  
For just a moment, all eyes are on her. Faye flushes, feels the heat of embarrassment rise in her chest and flash across her face. But then… Celica laughs.  
  
It’s the most beautiful sound Faye has ever heard.  
  
Faye offers her hand, muttering a sheepish apology. Alm takes it with a chuckle, letting her pull him back up. Alm is warm, steadfast, the soil beneath her feet. He’d kept Faye from drowning in the long, cold years of Celica’s absence. But now…  
  
Celica was here. She was resplendent in white and red, cast golden in the light of the great bonfire before her, her crimson hair shining like a halo, or a crown, like something out of a fairy tale.  
  
This isn’t a dream. And it’s better than a fairy tale.  
  
It’s real.  
  
Celica sits among a throng of friends old and new, cast in a brilliant, unearthly firelight. New names, new faces. Faye was still trying to remember them all. There’s Mae and Boey, never far from Celica’s side. There’s the junior cleric, Genny. All Faye can see of her is her pink, fluffy hair, her nose buried in a book. Every so often she shyly peeks out at the others before lifting her pen and quickly jotting something down. Sitting with her is a cleric with blue hair, her hair partially hidden by a headdress. And then there was their hired sword, what was his name…  
  
“Mister Saber?” Skye, Gray’s older sister, all but purrs. “Would you like another ale?”  
  
“Nah, I’m good,” Saber says. “And it’s just ‘Saber’. No ‘mister’. It’s my merc name.”  
  
“A mercenary, hm?” Skye cooes, giving Saber’s bicep an appreciative squeeze. “I should’ve known you didn’t get this figure just by chopping wood. Any thrilling exploits you’d care to share?”  
  
“...Eh…” Saber winces. “Maybe not in front of the kids.”  
  
“You can tell me,” Skye murmurs, smoky. “I’m _far_ from a child.”  
  
“O-kay…”  
  
“Sheesh. Why does she have to be so weird? She’s acting like she’s never seen a guy her age before,” Gray mutters from an adjacent log.  
  
“She kind of hasn’t,” Tobin shrugs.  
  
“Whatever. It’s pathetic, that’s what it is.” Gray says. He leans back, his eyes behind his head. He scoots over on the log until he’s sitting next to Silque, and flashes her a grin when she looks his way. “...Hey. How you doin’?”  
  
Tobin and Silque both roll their eyes in tandem.  
  
“Men,” they both scoff together. Gray scowls and socks Tobin in the arm.  
  
“Why’d you only hit _me_ ?” Tobin hisses, indignant.  
  
Celica laughs, crisp and clear. Knowingly or not, her voice draws all eyes to her.  
  
“You haven’t changed a bit,” Celica smiles. She meets the eyes of her old friends in turn. “I missed you so much.”  
  
Faye’s heart flips in her chest. She shudders, and snatches her gaze away. There’s so much warmth and tenderness in Celica’s eyes that it’s downright blinding. Faye finds herself blinking back tears, as if she’d just stared into the sun itself.  
  
“It’s good to have you back, Celica,” Mycen says warmly, a sentiment echoed around the campfire. “I only wish we could have given you a grander welcome than a barbecue around the fire pit.”  
  
“Getting everyone together is already everything I could have asked for,” Celica primly demurs. “Though, it is starting to get late. We should probably start setting up camp…”  
  
“Nonsense,” Mycen waves the thought away. “You’ve come all this way, you’re not going to spend tonight in a _tent_ . Ram’s hardly a tourist town, so we really don’t have an inn to speak of, but surely there are those among us who’d be able to accommodate--”  
  
“I volunteer!” Skye shoots to her feet.  
  
“I would, but with all my siblings, we’re kinda full up…” Tobin says, sheepish.  
  
“Not a problem!” Skye grins, looping a friendly arm around Genny and Silque’s shoulders. “We’ve got _plenty_ of room.”  
  
“...I suppose I should come keep an eye on you two…” Saber shrugged.  
  
“Oh, of course! We’d be happy to host all three of you,” Skye says sweetly.  
  
“Yes!” Gray punches the air. He jabs an elbow into Tobin’s ribs, leaning over in a conspiratorial whisper. “We got ‘em, Tobe! Two clerical cuties!”  
  
“And their _bodyguard_ ,” Tobin rolls his eyes.  
  
“No complaints here,” Skye winks.  
  
“And you, Celica?” Mycen asks. “You’re more than welcome to stay with Alm and I, for old times’ sake--”  
  
“Celica’s not goin’ anywhere without me!” Mae declares, hands on her hips.  
  
“Mae!” Boey hisses, tugging Mae back down into her seat. “This is Celica’s hometown. Are you saying you don’t trust them? Show some respect.”  
  
“For what it’s worth, we’d be happy to have you, too,” Alm offers peaceably.  
  
Mae just crosses her arms and pouts, to Boey’s quiet exasperation. Faye bites her lip.  
  
“Celica,” Faye blurts out before she can stop herself.  
  
Celica’s eyes meet hers, flashing in the firelight. Wine-red and warm chestnut.  
  
Faye fights down the deluge of feeling in her gut, and the flutter in her fingertips.  
  
“Will you stay with me?”  
  
~*~  
  
“Well, it’s not much,” Faye smiles, “but it’s home.”  
  
Celica steps inside and takes a deep breath. She takes in pine, cinnamon, and soil, a far cry from the salty sea breeze that got into everything on Novis. She heaves out a satisfied sigh.  
  
“...I missed this,” Celica says fondly, overcome with nostalgia. “I missed you.”  
  
Celica gives Faye’s hand a squeeze that warms her to her core in an instant. She feels heat flick across her cheeks, and glances away.  
  
“Kliff?” Faye calls out. “Kliff, I’m home.”  
  
Kliff comes down the stairs as Celica’s shrugging her pack onto the couch. He pauses at the bottom of the stairs, reluctantly looking up from his book and noticing Celica was there, too.  
  
“Oh. Hi.”  
  
“‘Oh, hi,’” Celica parrots back at him, playful. “After seven years?”  
  
“I said hi when you first arrived,” Kliff shrugs, flippant, but he still crosses the room and lets Celica pull him into a hug.  
  
“Why weren’t you at dinner?” Faye chides. “The whole town was there.”  
  
“Sounds exhausting,” Kliff muses dryly. He steps into the kitchen and pours himself a glass of water, before taking it right back up the stairs. “Anyway. I’ll be in my room.”  
  
“Oh, Kliff!” Faye huffs, exasperated. “When did you become such a loner?”  
  
“That’s rich, coming from you,” Kliff smirks, before disappearing upstairs.  
  
“Punk,” Faye mutters with weary fondness. Celica glances her way, her brow creased with concern, but doesn’t say a word.  
  
Time passes. The fire in the hearth fades to a crackling glow. They sit together, in the flickering firelight. Celica on the couch, hairbrush on her lap. Faye on her parents’ bearskin rug, her head resting against Celica’s knees.  
  
“You always had such beautiful hair,” Celica says gently.  
  
“Thanks,” Faye chuckles, amused. “I grew it myself.”  
  
Celica lifts one of Faye’s braids. The ribbon tying it off glints gold in the firelight; a forget-me-not from what feels like a lifetime ago.  
  
“You kept it,” Celica breathes. Reverent, like a prayer.  
  
“Of course I did,” Faye whispers. She lifts up her other braid, also tied off with a ribbon, though this wasn’t dusky sunset but rather a deep midnight blue. “Alm gave me one to match. Do you…?”  
  
Celica tugs a charm out from under the collar of her slip. A little tuft of broken fletching, strung on a leather cord.  
  
“I do,” Celica says gently. “I never take it off.”  
  
“An arrow with broken fletching won’t fly straight,” Faye whispers, her eyes wet. “It might even come right back around.”  
  
“Well, here I am,” Celica muses quietly. “I’m sorry it took me so long…”  
  
Faye chokes back a sob. If she starts crying now… she isn’t sure she’ll ever stop.  
  
There’s so much to say. And neither of them can manage to say much at all past the knots in their throats. So Celica nudges Faye with her foot, scoots her forward, and then slides off the couch and onto the floor. Faye reaches up and pulls the twin ribbons from her hair-- one the color of sunset, the other a midnight blue-- and shakes out her braids like a lion’s mane. Celica takes a lock of hair in her hand. Faye shivers as her Celica’s fingers brush against the back of her neck.  
  
They sit there together, connected by touch, by memory. A sweet, sepia past and a clouded, uncertain future.  
  
For a long moment, Faye closes her eyes and lets her whole world become the rhythmic strokes of the hairbrush, Celica’s fingers in her hair, and the way she shivers at her touch despite the hearth’s radiant warmth.  
  
“I haven’t seen Nana,” Celica speaks, into the intimate quiet. “Where is she?”  
  
Faye is so immersed in Celica’s soothing touch that it takes her a moment to remember.  
  
“Oh, she…” Faye exhales. “...passed. Last year.”  
  
Celica stares at her, stricken. “...oh, Faye. I’m so sorry…”  
  
“I’m alright,” Faye shakes her head, laughing without mirth. “...It’s… terrible for me to say this, but… we knew it was coming. We had time to prepare. And after losing you… well. Nothing else could ever come close.”  
  
Celica sets the hairbrush down. Something glints in her eyes-- courage. Conviction.  
  
“...You didn’t lose me, Faye.”  
  
“Yes, I did,” Faye whispers. “For seven years.”  
  
Faye feels Celica’s arms loop around her waist from behind. She doesn’t pull away.  
  
“I always meant to come back,” Celica murmurs. “Someday.”  
  
Faye sighs, and shrugs into Celica’s embrace.  
  
“...Celica, you didn’t cross the ocean just for me. And you’re not here to stay. Are you?”  
  
“...No,” Celica admits, glancing away. “I’m sorry. I’m not sure how to explain it. It’s…”  
  
“...Complicated,” Faye mutters quietly..”I know the feeling.”  
  
One moment goes by. Two. Three. And still, neither of them know what to say to that. Eventually, Faye gently untangles herself from Celica’s arms and tells her to switch places.  
  
Celica sits in front of her, and Faye delicately runs her brush through Celica’s fire-red hair.  
  
This was one of the things they looked forward to the most, when they were younger. Their nightly ritual, whenever they spent the night together, which was often. There was something about it-- the care, the attention, the closeness-- that just made all the day’s troubles just melt away.  
  
Celica’s not a child anymore. She’s a woman, with a woman’s troubles. A priestess of Mila, on a journey across Zofia. Compared to such lofty, noble pursuits, Faye’s own worries seem so insignificant. So small.  
  
They certainly don’t feel small. Faye sits there, Celica’s hair between her fingers and a tempest roiling in her gut. Celica’s so, so warm. And while part of her comes alight like a spark catching fire, that flame stands before a tidal wave-- a deluge of feeling, a flood of grief, absence, and anger that makes that poor little light gutter like a candle in the wind.  
  
So much. So much feeling. So much to say.  
  
Not enough words.  
  
Not enough time.  
  
That night, they lay apart on Faye’s parents’ old bearskin rug, their backs to each other, so close, and yet so far. Through the window, the great oak tree in Faye’s front yard stands skeletal, framing the moon with its bare branches. In the shadow of that great tree, haloed by the moon, Celica claps her hands together and prays.  
  
“Exalted Mila,” she whispers, “giver of life, giver of your bounty, and mother to us all…”  
  
Faye stirs in her sleep behind her. Celica exhales, and squeezes her eyes shut.  
  
“Please, send me a sign.”  
  
~*~  
  
The heavens had opened.  
  
Faye wakes to an ear-splitting crack of thunder and the flash of lightning beyond the trees. She reaches behind her, searching. When she doesn’t feel Celica beside her, she gasps, an age-old fear surging through her chest.  
  
 _Alone._ That thought pierces her like an icicle to her heart. She scrambles to her feet, rushes out the door--  
  
\--and finds Celica on the porch, gazing out into the rain.  
  
“Faye?” Celica wonders.  
  
“C-Celica,” Faye shudders. She glances away, feeling foolish. “I… I’m sorry. I was just…”  
  
“Faye,” Celica coos, so tenderly it makes Faye’s heart ache. She takes Faye’s hand, urges her up to meet her eyes. Faye takes a deep breath.  
  
“...I thought you’d left me,” Faye whispers.  
  
She doesn’t need to say “again”. It lingers between them, clinging like fog. A ghost on both their shoulders.  
  
“Oh, Faye,” Celica sighs. She gives her hand an affectionate squeeze. “...I wouldn’t do that. Not ever. And especially not without saying goodbye. What happened seven years ago... I didn’t have a choice.”  
  
“Now you do,” Faye urges. “You could stay. You and all your new friends. You could stay here, in Ram. Make a new life here. Start over. With us.” _With me._ _  
__  
_Faye’s smiling, her eyes alight with a stubborn, defiant hope. But when lightning flashes above them, Celica can still see the telltale glint of held-back tears.  
  
Celica heaves out a sigh.  
  
“...No. I can’t.” Celica says, quiet but firm. “There’s still something I have to do.”  
  
Faye nods gravely. She squeezes Celica’s hand. Rainwater streams down around them from the awning above the porch, hemming them in. A shimmering curtain three meters square.  
  
“...Well,” Faye begins, changing tack. “You’re not embarking on a pilgrimage in _this_ storm, I’ll tell you that. If you were out on the road, that’d be one thing, as long as you didn’t mind trudging through mud. But you don’t want to go through Fleecer’s Forest in the dark and the damp. You should wait out the storm, maybe stay another night, see how the road looks in the morning.”  
  
“Agreed,” Celica nods.  
  
“Come inside,” Faye urges. “Make yourself at home.”  
  
Faye brushes her thumb across Celica’s knuckles and leads her back into the house. But before she goes, Celica looks over her shoulder, glancing out at the storm and the soil turning to mud at their feet. Earth and water.  
  
Duma is a god of fire and air, the forge and the billows. But Mila?  
  
Mila is in the rain.  
  
~*~  
  
“Sorry, guys,” Alm says, sheepish. “I’m, uh… not much of an entertainer.”  
  
“Oh, no, this is lovely, thank you,” Boey assures him, rummaging elbow-deep through a wooden chest full of books.  
  
“Mycen really only has stuff like maps and treatises on swordsmanship,” Alm explains. “We don’t get too many traders this far out in the countryside, and the ones we _do_ get don’t carry a lot of books. But I try to get what I can. It’s, uh… probably not like what you’re used to, huh?”  
  
“The Novis Archives are a thing of beauty,” Boey says, pride welling in his chest. “But not much in the way of fiction, I’m afraid. Just walls and walls of textbook spellcraft and droll histories. What kind of books do you read?”  
  
Alm clears his throat. “Oh, uh, you know… thrilling adventures. Pirates, swordfights, dashing rescues, that sort of thing…”  
  
“‘Young Ladies’,” Boey reads aloud, bemused. “‘Four sisters navigating romance in the years after the war…”  
  
“Th-That’s not mine, I don’t know how that got in there--”  
  
“Ah,” Boey lifts a book out of the chest and raps his knuckles against the cover, shooting Alm a playful smile. “‘Joy and Judgment’. Another classic.”  
  
“That’s not mine either. I think Faye might have left that in there,” Alm says quickly, swatting the book out of Boey’s grasp. A moment passes. He coughs, glancing up to meet Boey’s eyes. “...So. Um. Have, uh… have you read it?”  
  
Boey chuckles. “You and Genny would get along _so_ well.”  
  
Alm grins, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. He glances over his shoulder, checking in on his other guest.  
  
“What about you, Mae? Can I interest you in some reading material while we’re stuck indoors?”  
  
“Oh, Mae doesn’t r--”  
  
Boey yelps as Mae whallops him in the arm.  
  
“I read books!” Mae huffs. She turns to Alm, flashing him an innocent smile. “...I was just wondering if I could get a glass of water.”  
  
“Oh, yeah. Of course.”  
  
Alm fetches her a glass from the kitchen cupboard, filled from a pitcher on the counter. Mae thanks him and sends him off, back upstairs with Boey to talk about _books_ or whatever, before pulling a chair over to the window and getting to work.  
  
Mae pulls off her glove and, using her fingernail, carefully etches a sigil onto the bottom of her glass. She downs most of her water with a satisfied sigh, leaving just enough at the bottom to form a thin layer. The sigil shines, curving and shaping the water into a lens.  
  
“Nailed it!” Mae grins, punching the air in triumph. She raises her new enchanted spyglass up to her eye, peering through the window at Faye’s house across the town square.  
  
“Alright, sister,” Mae mutters, “let’s see what you’re up to with _my_ best friend…”  
  
~*~  
  
It’s so close to ordinary.  
  
It’s so close to normal. The hours glide gently by, and the morning melts into something soft and warm, stained the caramel-brown of memory. Faye and Celica talk together, they read together, they do chores together, they sit and just savor their time together. It’s so… normal. It’s like Celica never left.  
  
Except that’s not true. Every moment, for all its warmth, carries an undercurrent of anxiety. Of tension. As if they’re both well aware this reunion is too good to last.  
  
Faye tries, though. She tries so hard. Both to bury that seed of dread deep inside her heart, and to enjoy her time with Celica, as if she could convince Celica to stay if she just reminded her of the good old days.  
  
“Faye, you don’t have to _cook_ for me,” Celica protests.  
  
“Of course I do,” Faye tuts. “You’re my guest.”  
  
“But you already went through the trouble of making me breakfast just a few hours ago,” Celica says, hovering by Faye’s elbows. “Please, at least let me help you. There must be something I could peel, or chop…”  
  
“No, no, no,” Faye says, stubborn, ushering Celica back and pushing her down onto the couch. “Really, Celica, it’s fine. I want to do this for you. And if it makes you feel any better, I don’t let _anybody_ into my kitchen, so it’s not just you. Now sit your butt down and let me take care of you.”  
  
Celica watches Faye bustle around the kitchen, a master of her domain, with a smile tinged with sorrow and a hand over her heart. There’s an ache in her chest. A fondness, a yearning. Stained by grief and weathered by time, muddied, like it had gone running through the rain.  
  
When Faye calls up the stairs that lunch is ready, Kliff comes down, takes one look at Celica’s stricken expression, and brings his plate right back upstairs to his room, leaving the two of them to themselves.  
  
Faye and Celica eat together. They talk together. After Celica’s insistence that Faye let her do _some_ of the work, they wash dishes together, settling in together on the couch when they’re done.  
  
It’s so close. So close to normal. But there’s a silence that stretches between them that lingers for too long. A silence that begins as something intimate, before growing stale.  
  
“Faye,” Celica says, into the looming quiet. “Can we talk?”  
  
Faye looks up sharply, a crack in her smile. “...Y-Yeah. Of course.”  
  
Celica offers her hand, palm up, between them. She takes a deep breath, and twines her fingers with Faye’s with a squeeze.  
  
“Faye,” Celica begins, carefully, “how have you really been, these past few years?”  
  
Faye swallows hard. She can’t look Celica in the eyes.  
  
“...Fine. Okay.”  
  
“Faye.”  
  
Faye takes a shuddering breath.  
  
“...Maybe it has been a rough few years,” Faye shivers. “When you left, it… it hit me pretty hard. But I made it, didn’t I? I’m still here. As Alm would say, I survived, and that’s not nothing.”  
  
“No,” Celica nods. “But is it enough?”  
  
Faye blows out a sigh. She sits back on the couch, idly brushing her thumb across Celica’s knuckles.  
  
“...No,” Faye breathes. “No. It’s not enough. And it hasn’t been for a long time. When you arrived in town yesterday, I… I thought that might change. I thought we could just pick up where we left off, and the world would make sense again.”  
  
Faye exhales, shaking her head sadly.  
  
“I was just… so lonely, Celica. I was so lost without you.”  
  
Celica closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.  
  
“...I know you can’t stay. It’s selfish for me to even think about it,” Faye chides herself.  
  
“Faye,” Celica murmurs, “after holding on for this long, I think you deserve to be a little selfish.”  
  
Faye nods to herself. She squeezes Celica’s hand, and clutches it to her heart, so Celica can feel her heartbeat through her skin.  
  
“Nothing’s been the same ever since you left,” Faye confesses. “It was like you took a piece of me with you. It hurt, Celica. It hurt so much, and now that you’re here, I thought everything would be right again, but it’s not. There’s this hole in my chest, Celica. It’s still there. It’s still hurting. And it took me all this time to finally realize what it was.”  
  
Their eyes meet, wine-red and warm chestnut.  
  
Faye takes a deep breath, and lets it out slow.  
  
“I loved you, Celica.”  
  
Celica gasps, her eyes brimming with tears. She pulls Faye into an embrace, throwing her arms around Faye’s neck and clutching fistfuls of her hair.  
  
“Oh, Faye,” Celica whispers. “I think… I loved you, too.”  
  
“Then stay. Please,” Faye begs. “Maybe… we could fall in love all over again.”  
  
Celica falters. “...Faye, you know I can’t. The pilgrimage--”  
  
“ _Please_ , Celica,” Faye pleads, haggard. “I want you…”  
  
“I know,” Celica whispers. “But I want you to be happy.”  
  
“I’m happy with _you_ !”  
  
“You deserve a happiness that doesn't depend on me,” Celica says, adamant. Reverent, like a prayer.  
  
Faye takes a shuddering breath. Celica holds her until her breathing stills, gently running her fingers through her hair and down her back.  
  
“I want to be with you,” Faye whispers.  
  
“I know.”  
  
“I’m sorry.”  
  
“I’m sorry, too,” Celica breathes. “...I know this isn’t what you want to hear, Faye. But I’m a princess, and a priestess of Mila. Whether it’s today, tomorrow, next month or next year, someday, I will have to go somewhere you can’t follow. And on that day, I need to know that you’ll be okay. I need to know you’ll be happy and whole, whether I’m with you or not.”  
  
“I can’t promise you that,” Faye mumbles into her chest. “Not yet.”  
  
“I know, Faye,” Celica coos into her throat. “I’m sorry.”  
  
Faye sinks, defeated, into Celica’s embrace. Celica holds her as tight as she can.  
  
Maybe, someday, they’ll learn to be together again. But first, they have to learn to be apart.  
  
~*~  
  
“What the--?!”  
  
Mae lowers her enchanted spyglass in disbelief, a scowl flicking across her face.  
  
“Oh, wow, blondie’s pulling out _all_ the stops. If she thinks she can muscle in on my turf as Celica’s number one gal pal, she’s got another thing coming. Sorry, sister! That seat’s taken!”  
  
“You know, green really isn’t your color,” Boey muses.  
  
“Shut up, Boey,” Mae says automatically. She yelps, fumbling her spyglass. “Wha-- Boey! I thought you were upstairs with--”  
  
“Me?” Alm says behind her.  
  
Mae yelps again in surprise, her spyglass slipping from her fingers and promptly shattering against the floorboards. She glances guiltily between Alm and the broken glass.  
  
“Um. I can pay for that.”  
  
“What’s going on here?” Alm demands. “Are you spying on Faye?”  
  
“Pfft! No!” Mae blusters. “I’m looking out for Celica! Your friend’s the one who’s got her all down in the dumps!”  
  
“What?” Alm blinks.  
  
“Yeah, look,” Mae points.  
  
Alm squints. Through the rain, he can see Celica, standing alone and pensive on Faye’s front porch, with Faye herself nowhere to be seen.  
  
Any suspicion or hostility in Alm’s voice melts into concern in an instant.  
  
“Stay here,” he says, pulling a rain cloak off the wall.  
  
~*~  
  
Faye stands under the awning of her back porch, her trusty bow in hand, arrow drawn back to her cheek. Her aim is perfect. Her form, impeccable.  
  
She looses her arrow. It whistles down the length of her grandmother’s turnip field and punches into the target mounted on the fencepost beyond, one ring off from a bullseye. Faye scowls.  
  
“Hey,” Alm speaks up behind her.  
  
Faye glances at him. “Hey.”  
  
Alm raises and lowers one shoulder in a half-shrug. “You okay?”  
  
“Fine,” Faye mutters under her breath, nocking another arrow. “Peachy.”  
  
Her shot soars across the field and punches into the target. Two rings off from a bullseye.  
  
“Nice shot,” Alm says gently, without a trace of sarcasm.  
  
Faye shakes her head. So damned nice. So understanding. Even when she’s lying to his face.  
  
“I messed up, Alm,” Faye says, nocking an arrow.  
  
“How?”  
  
“...I told her,” Faye confesses. Her fingers twitch as she looses her arrow. Three rings off center. “Sorry I beat you to it.”  
  
“That’s okay,” Alm says. “I mean, I wasn’t planning on saying anything.”  
  
“Why not?” Faye wonders, nocking another arrow. “She’s leaving. You might never get another chance.”  
  
Alm shrugs. Smiles. But it’s a pained smile.  
  
“...It wouldn’t feel right without you.”  
  
Faye’s shot goes wide. It dips low and decapitates a poor turnip plant, missing the target entirely. She lowers her bow, blowing out a sigh.  
  
“So, um,” Alm fidgets behind her. “How are you two?”  
  
Faye’s voice breaks. “...We aren’t.”  
  
“Oh, Faye…”  
  
Faye shudders. She feels Alm’s hand against her arm, turns, and leans into him, tucking his shoulder under her chin.  
  
This is what he’s always been. Her friend, her anchor, her star in the night sky. An island of respite from Faye’s misfiring mind. An oasis. But having an oasis wasn’t enough for her anymore. She didn’t want to just survive. She wanted a way out of the desert. She wanted the rain.  
  
“I’m so stupid,” Faye mutters into Alm’s throat. He reaches up, a gentle hand in her hair.  
  
“You’re not stupid.”  
  
“I am,” Faye insists. “I thought… I thought having her back would suddenly make everything right. That we could just move on, like nothing ever happened. It hurts, Alm.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
“It’s not fair,” Faye stamps her foot in frustration. “Why am I like this? How are you so calm about this? I put my whole life on hold for her, waiting for Celica to come home. But she _had_ a life. And we weren’t in it.”  
  
“No, Faye,” Alm says gently, squeezing her shoulder. “Celica _has_ a life. And we can still be part of it.”  
  
“Yeah, right…” Faye scoffs, rueful.  
  
“Faye?”  
  
Faye looks up.  
  
Celica stands on her porch steps in Alm’s midnight blue rain cloak, a basket of oranges on her arm. Rain drips from the edges of her cloak, mud spattering her pristine white boots. Earth and water.  
  
Mila is in the rain.  
  
“Hi, Faye,” Celica offers a conciliatory smile, lifting her basket. “Can I come in?”  
  
~*~  
  
There are two aprons besides Faye’s on the wall hooks in her kitchen. Alm wears Kliff’s, her brother in all but name until they became something more. Celica wears Nana’s, a ghost returned to life.  
  
Alm doesn’t need to be reminded where they keep the flour or where to find a whisk. He doesn’t need coaching on preheating an oven or dough-kneading technique. He and Faye move together with the practiced grace of those who’ve done this a thousand times before.  
  
Celica watches them, watches the warmth or their shared history expressed in smiles, in inside jokes, in little touches and asides, her heart so full of fondness she fears it might burst.  
  
Years ago, when she and Alm were ten and Faye was proud to be eleven-and-a-half, it just felt normal. Right. Three kids, scurrying around Nana’s heels and Nana swatting them away from a pie fresh from the oven that still needed to cool. Three best friends, excited to be making something together.  
  
Now?  
  
It’s like falling in love all over again.  
  
“How does this look, Faye?” Alm asks, shifting the bowl in his arms. He pulls out a whisk covered in smooth meringue.  
  
“Stiff peaks. You nailed it,” Faye smiles. “Alright, get ready.”  
  
“Shouldn’t we wait to put the meringue on top?” Celica wonders. “Won’t it melt?”  
  
“No,” Faye explains, carefully pouring hot orange custard into a parbaked pie crust. “The heat will actually cook the bottom of the meringue and make a little barrier between it and the filling. This way, it won’t get all runny and weepy later.”  
  
Faye steps aside so Alm can dollop meringue on top of their pie. She glances up, and finds Celica watching her with a dopey smile on her face. Faye smirks.  
  
“...What?”  
  
Celica giggles, a hand over her mouth.  
  
“Oh, I just… like listening to you explain things,” Celica smiles.  
  
“She gets that a lot,” Alm teases.  
  
Faye shoves him, playful, leaving a floury handprint on his apron.  
  
When their pie is in the oven and the whole house smells like oranges, the trio retires to the living room, settling in on the couch together. Celica sits in the middle, Alm and Faye beside her-- her left and right hands. They sink into the couch with satisfied sighs, leaning into Celica’s shoulders. She reaches out and takes both of their hands with a squeeze.  
  
“I missed this,” Celica says. “I missed you. I feel like we’ve been saying that a lot, these past two days.”  
  
“It’s true every time,” Alm muses.  
  
“Mm,” Celica hums. “I wanted to do this at least once, just in case…”  
  
Celica’s expression darkens. She exhales.  
  
“...just in case.”  
  
“Celica?” Faye wonders.  
  
“Never mind,” Celica shakes her head. “It’s nothing.”  
  
They spend a quiet moment together, all three of them. Connected by grief, absence, the embers of affection rekindled. It’s Faye who ends up breaking the intimate silence.  
  
“You’re leaving tomorrow?” Faye asks.  
  
“Yes. If it’s not raining,” Celica says quietly. She squeezes Faye’s hand. “I’m sorry. I can’t stay. And you two can’t leave.”  
  
Alm furrows his brow. “Says who?”  
  
Celica shrugs. “Ram is your home. I won’t ask you two to uproot your whole lives just for me.”  
  
“Why not?” Faye asks gently. “Because you know we’d say yes?”  
  
“...It’s dangerous,” Celica admits.  
  
Alm blinks. “Well, sure, you might run into bandits. I assumed that’s why you hired a bodyguard--”  
  
“Not just bandits,” Celica says. “Terrors.”  
  
“What?” Faye hisses.  
  
“Celica, what’s really going on?” Alm asks.  
  
Celica exhales. “...I can’t say.”  
  
“Because you don’t trust us?” Faye demands.  
  
“Because I don’t know,” Celica says, adamant. “That’s what I’m going to the Temple of Mila to find out. There’s something stirring in Rigel. A plot involving the Duma Faithful. That’s why I didn’t ask you to come with me-- if you stay in Ram, you’ll be safe.”  
  
“What, so it’s okay if _you’re_ the one in danger?” Alm balks.  
  
Celica doesn’t know what to say to that. She sighs, and shakes her head. She can’t bear to look either Alm or Faye in the eyes right now, so she just fixes her gaze forward, on the fireplace, on the pitter-patter of the rain still coming down. She can feel the weight of Alm and Faye’s judgment, the warm embrace of their concern.  
  
Faye meets Alm’s eyes over Celica’s shoulders. She brushes her thumb across Celica’s knuckles.  
  
“Celica,” Faye pleads. “Take us with you.”  
  
~*~  
  
They spend the night twined together on Faye’s parents’ bearskin rug, not quite like they did as kids-- Alm’s arm looped loosely around Faye’s waist, Celica’s hand clasped in Faye’s, connected by a touch, a promise. It’s like something out of a dream, and, like a dream, it disappears with the daylight, as the sun rises on the morning of the pilgrimage’s departure.  
  
It had stopped raining overnight. The ground still squishes uncomfortably underfoot, but the road’s no longer flooded, and the path through Fleecer’s Forest is clear.  
  
The pilgrimage assembles in the town square, gathering around a covered wagon that Mycen “just had laying around”. Their trip back north will be a little bit faster and smoother than their long march south.  
  
“This ended up being quite the detour,” Celica says as she walks, Silque and Saber by her side. “I’m sorry about the delay.”  
  
“Hey, no complaints here. I’m charging by the day,” Saber grins. He tosses his pack up into the wagon bed, hoisting himself up to take the reins.  
  
“And if you hadn’t come this way, you wouldn’t have found me so ignobly waylaid by bandits,” Silque coos, patting Celica’s arm. “Your ‘detour’ saved my life. Mila provides.”  
  
“Mila provides,” Celica echoes. Her hand closes over Silque’s with an affectionate squeeze. “So, Silque. How did things go with your hosts?”  
  
“Disappointing. For them,” Silque chirps, playful. “Your friends, Gray and Tobin. I spent much of yesterday deflecting their advances by badgering them to do their chores. Genny spent half the day reading and the other half writing. And Gray’s sister, Skye? She seemed set on charming Saber here until he found out she was much closer to _my_ age than to his. He tried to let her down gently.”  
  
“I said I wasn’t interested in younger women,” Saber drawls.  
  
Celica laughs. “That poor girl.”  
  
“What about you?” Silque smiles, giving Celica a playful shove. “I heard your night was quite a bit more exciting than mine.”  
  
“Who told you that?”  
  
“Genny.”  
  
Celica rolls her eyes. “Tell her to save it for her book.”  
  
Silque smiles, nodding over Celica’s shoulder. “Here they come now.”  
  
Alm was coming up the road, traveling pack slung over his shoulder. He spots Gray and Tobin leaning against a fence, and gives them a languid wave. The two boys wave back.  
  
“Well, Tobe,” Gray says, resigned, “we didn’t get a date. But at least the house looks spotless.”  
  
“I still don’t get why you were making such a big deal about it,” Tobin shrugs. “They’re just girls.”  
  
“‘Just’ girls? Man, I don’t even know who you _are_ , anymore.”  
  
“Don’t forget to check and reset the snares in the morning so you can catch something for dinner,” Faye says, rattling off a list of reminders as Kliff nodded along. “If you need help, or anything happens, you can ask Skye, or Mycen--”  
  
“I got it, I got it,” Kliff shrugs, his hands in his pockets. “Relax. I’m not gonna burn the house down.”  
  
“Okay. Okay.” Faye takes a deep breath. “I love you.”  
  
“Yeah,” Kliff pulls his half-sister into an awkward side hug. “You too. Good luck.”  
  
Alm appears behind her. She gives Kliff one last squeeze, before taking Alm’s hand and letting him lead her up the square, to their waiting caravan.  
  
“Hey,” Faye says, catching Boey and Mae lingering by her porch steps. “How was the pie?”  
  
Mae pouts, her arms crossed. She can’t exactly complain after Faye invited the whole pilgrimage over for breakfast. But that doesn’t mean she has to say anything, even after Boey gives her a look and jabs his elbow into her ribs. He sighs, shaking his head.  
  
“It was delicious, Miss Faye. Thank you,” Boey says in her stead.  
  
“I’m glad,” Faye smiles, and nods, before making her way over to the cart.  
  
“Mae,” Boey chides, once Alm and Faye are out of earshot. “Be nice.”  
  
“Alright, so she can bake a good pie,” Mae grudgingly admits. “I’m still keeping an eye on her.”  
  
Faye unslings her quiver, knife belt, and hunting cloak, and hands them up into the wagon. They get stowed away beside a crate containing Alm’s armor, his sword, and a couple of books. “For the road”, he’d said.  
  
Celica’s waiting. She takes them both by the hand.  
  
“I’m glad you’re with me,” she says, gentle, sincere.  
  
“Me, too,” Alm and Faye echo, laughing when they say it at the same time.  
  
“I should say, up front, that this doesn’t mean that we’re… _together_ , together,” Celica says carefully. “It’s been a long time, and I can’t just jump into something like that, especially with this conspiracy looming over our heads. I still need time. Not to mention Mae, and Boey… it’s…”  
  
“Complicated,” Faye says. “I understand. But I still want to try.”  
  
Celica smiles. The sight makes Faye’s heart flip in her chest.  
  
“I want to try, too,” Celica whispers.  
  
“We’ll be okay,” Alm urges. “We’ll all be okay. After all, love isn’t always just looking into each other’s eyes. Sometimes love means looking together, in the same direction.”  
  
A warm moment blooms between them. Faye smiles, and punches Alm in the arm.  
  
“What, did you rehearse that?” Faye teases.  
  
Alm shrugs. “I dunno. I heard it somewhere. I thought it sounded good.”  
  
“Um, excuse me?”  
  
Alm blinks, turning. Above him, a girl with fuffy, rosy hair pokes her head out of the wagon, her nose previously buried in a book.  
  
“That line,” Genny says shyly. “That’s from ‘Joy and Judgment’, isn’t it?”  
  
“Uh. Yeah,” Alm smiles, sheepish. “Hi. I’m Alm.”  
  
“Sister Genny,” Genny smiles. “Do you read?”  
  
“I _love_ to read.”  
  
Alm hoists himself into the wagon and sits with Genny, the two of them chattering about historical dramas, courtly romances, and most importantly, the _yearning_ . Faye and Celica just share a fond, knowing look.  
  
“...We’re off to a good start,” Celica smiles.  
  
“Alright, kids!” Saber calls, thumping his sheathed sword against the side of the wagon. “Let’s pack it up and get on the road!”  
  
The pilgrimage sets out on their journey, and Faye goes with them, trading her log cabin and turnip field for a covered wagon and half a dozen strangers. Except they’re not strangers, she realizes. They’re friends. Or they will be. And that includes Celica herself. Gone, but not forgotten. Here, now, but not quite there. At least, not yet.  
  
The caravan’s wheels cut furrows in the muddy road. The first slivers of sunshine peek over the trees. The first flowers of spring are beginning to bloom, still wet from yesterday’s rain.  
  
It can’t all be sunshine. But Mila is in the rain.  
  
Flowers can’t bloom without the rain.  
  
~*~


End file.
